What's that in your ears? What are you Listening to?

I think I prefer it backwards.

Thinking about my grandfather over a glass of wine. Both him and my grandmother have been coming into dreams recently. I wish they were lovely dreams where we could have a chat and I'd wake up on that, but they aren't of that variety.



I did my back in severely at the beginning of the year, and was able to use his lovely black cane with gold handle. He would've laughed at me struggling to get around, and sent me to one of his many alternative practitioners, with cash for a cab fare and a tip and 'a little for a treat that takes your eye'.

This was my Nanna's requested song at her funeral.

A superb choice, it's just a shame she wasn't around to enjoy it.

If you were upset, you'd get a blanket and pillows made up on the sofa, and your own little occasional table containing a decanter of Scotch (Macallan, always), a matching crystal tumbler, an ashtray and lighter, and one or two of those packets of ten tissues you can get.

Depending on the severity of the crime, he'd invariably conclude that the other person would deserve to be horsewhipped, or else taken out and shot. Or he'd studiously turn away and say 'I think you were at fault there girly - the apology is owed by you not to you'.

I remember as a child, being in the passenger seat on a hot day with the roof down, telling him to go faster because there was a hill ahead that made your stomach flip at speed. Laughing and accelerating. The sound of the engine mixing with Roy Orbison.

Yeah, you can't beat a bit of Frank can you. I'm sure she was in some way. That's what I choose to think. Not having been schooled or raised religiously, I don't have the inside track on the thinking. Lovely as it all would be to have an eternal reunion, it doesn't make real true sense to me.

I was discussing death with a Berber youth at the top of a dune in the Sahara, admiring the fragility of male beauty enhanced by moonlight. As we talked in bits of English, French, Arabic, his own local language, and some signing and laughing, we watched a shooting star cross the sky and he explained quite beautifully that no life energy which formed a space in the world can ever disappear, it just takes on different forms like stardust. That did make eloquent sense.

Then we f**ked.

My gran used to joke this must've been written for him. 'I can't take your grandfather shopping, he stops to admire his reflection in every window we pass'. 'He's been admiring his tan and gazing at himself in his shaving mirror since breakfast'.

I think they had the perfect marriage because they were friends and never lived out of each other's pockets. He had his French lady, on condition that she never appeared in or was taken to a list of restaurants, venues, and countries decided on by my gran. I met her only twice - once as a child when I played in her incredible garden, and once at his funeral - she was provided with her own car from his collection, and a driver for her was covered. We write to each other from time to time, and have vague plans to arrange a long lunch. We share a love of thick cream stationery and fountain pens - although my ink is blue and hers is black. It hurts me how judgemental people are of that. 

A friend is going through a difficult time with her flirtatious (and it must be said, insanely, knicker soakingly handsome in a buff bimbo way) boyfriend. I discussed my grandparents just to comfortingly suggest there are other types of relationship than exclusive cloying twosomes until death - that can not only last, but positively blossom into a deep and soulful friendship. I was pretty stung by her immediate rejection of it and could feel the prickle of tears. So I went off to open us another bottle.

My mother actually vetoed You're So Vain for his funeral, despite my gran liking it best, because she said people might think we trying to create a nasty tone rather than an affectionate one. So we had this instead as a compromise...



She can be strangely censorious at times. She also took exception to some very tasteful full frontal nudes of my father and sliced them off at the waist so they were 'suitable' for others to view.

My father - these were tasteful. Some genuinely artistic and a few casual beach snaps. I thought it was a shame. He did also have a pretty extensive collection of homemade p*rn starring himself and various women, which I was only too pleased to destroy myself. In one case the woman asked me to set aside those of her - still no idea who gave her my number. She wanted to destroy them herself so there was no chance of her husband ever setting eyes on this filth. I met her in a pub where we exchanged envelopes. She got her work returned and I got seven grand in cash - a fair price for my trouble. After I counted it I took a twenty off the top so she could buy herself a drink - she looked like she needed one. Never heard from her again thankfully.

Actually I did send a few of the most explicit ones to my nan, so she could see all of her best boy.

This reminds me so much of him. All early pictures of me with him when he's not in uniform have him with the white stripe across his face.



Stand and Deliver - pretty much sums him up in three words.

My dad is the reason I'm stuck with my tacky name. On his way to the registrars he stopped for a few drinks. Apparently that day's page 3 or some men's magazine was featuring a Tanya. So he stuck it on the front.

I am daily amazed now by how much my son resembles his grandfather. His hair used to be so blonde - now it's darkened considerably. Same slim athletic build, same sullen expression, same smile and laugh, and same Mr Totally Innocent look when caught red handed doing something.

Been a Hawkwind fan since Silver Machine but have never listened to this album before.


Meh.

Tales from Topographical Oceans.

L. Ron Hubby sings: